Hit Parade
by ShannonSto
Summary: Weekly Improv fic. GS oriented. Grissom, Sara, the Monkees and a quick cockroach.


**A/N:**  This one's for the PwF chat crew.  Yes, I love the oldies!  How sad that  the songs I grew up on are now on the oldies stations G.

**Disclaimer:**  Not mine.  If we learned anything over the last month, it's that none of us owns this show.  Curses!

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"It was an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini…" Nick started singing when Sara entered the break room.

"I'm beginning to think Phil Doring was onto something," Sara deadpanned.

"Who?" Warrick looked out from behind his magazine.

"Our suspect," Nick explained. "This yahoo kept a list of songs that he hated.  He sent it to all the local DJs with a letter threatening them if they played something on the list."

Sara poured her coffee. "Wouldn't you know it, Wallace Williams—"

"Wacky Wally on Rush Hour Rock?  You guys pulled that case?"  Warrick slapped the magazine down on the table.

"Wacky Wally ended up with a microphone embedded in his skull.  Then this Doring guy called all the other stations to warm them against doing what Wally did."

"Which was?"

"He played 'Seasons in the Sun'," Nick said with a dramatic air.

Warrick chortled. "He offed the guy for playing 'Seasons in the Sun'?  Who could blame him?"

"Hey!" Sara huffed. "I like that song."

"Man, that is some serious cheese."

"What's wrong with cheese?  I liked a lot of the songs on the list," she shrugged.

"But not the bikini one," Nick cleared his throat to begin singing again.

Sara held up her hand in the universal 'stop' sign. "No, not that one. I hate that one!"

"Ahem," Grissom called from the doorway, "how's the quest to find Wacky Wally's killer going?"

Nick grinned smugly. "We're just waiting on the DNA."

"And, Warrick, how's the arson?"

"Just about done.  I just need to recruit someone to help me test my theory.  You game, Nick?"

"Oh, I'm your man," Nick boasted.

"Good. And I need help with an experiment of my own," Grissom said with a slight tilt of his head.  "Sara?  My office?"

"Oh, okay, I'll be there in a minute," Sara agreed nervously.

"Oh, and for the record," Grissom stopped to say on his way out, "The worst song ever written was easily 'In The Year 2525', by Zager and Evans."

Sara's indignation was evident as she placed her hands on her hips and shouted after him, "That's a great song!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sara made a quick trip out to her car before going to met Grissom in him office.  Just a few years ago, the odd array of items strewn across a sheet on the floor would have made her stop to wonder what in the world he was doing, but these days she merely shook her head and passed it off as typical Grissom.

"Hey. You mind if I put on a CD?"

"No.  It's on the desk…look under those files on the left."

She removed the Maria Callas disc and replaced with the one she'd gotten out of her car.  Within seconds, the vocals filled the room. "In the year 2525…"

Grissom dropped his trowel and looked at her, grinning. "You actually have this on CD?"

"A friend of mine burned this for me. I love it! It has a lot of songs I hadn't heard for a long time."

"Are they all as good as this one?"  He pulled the end of the chain and pulled it taut. "Grab the other end, would you?"

"Some of them are even better," she smirked.  She cursed herself for being unable to disguise the gap-toothed grin spreading across her face as she did as he directed.  "I liked nearly all of the songs on Doring's list.  It's funny how people claim to hate them but most of them were big hits."

"What songs do you hate?  I'll bet some of them were hits, too."  He readjusted the height of the Bunsen burner.  "Now the squeeze cheese, please."

"Squeeze cheese?  I thought the wood putty should be next.  Anyway, yeah, the ones I dislike were huge. That's part of why I hate them. You couldn't get away from them."

"Such as?"

"'The Thong Song', for one.  And 'Mambo Number Five'. Anything by Ace of Base." 

"The wood putty's last.  There's actually a 'Thong Song'?"

Sara nodded.   Unconsciously she began to sing along with the CD, "…and our good times started then with a dollar one to spend, but how much, Baby, do we really need?"

"This is on someone's hate list?  'Daydream Believer'?"

"No, I think everybody likes the Monkees," Sara began to blush slightly. "The CD is just random songs that we like.  You ready for the coffee grounds?"

"Yep."

She stood and stretched, dancing a little as Leo Sayer belted out 'You Make Me Feel Like Dancing'.  "Wow, I must have been seven or eight when this song was out." 

Having retrieved the coffee grounds from the other end of the sheet, she sat back down.  She immediately wished she could take back her words.  _That's right, Sara, point out the age difference.  He was what, in grad school?  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  _"What are we doing here, anyway?"

If he was bothered by her statement, he didn't let it show.  He seemed focused on his task as he peered over the top of his glasses. "Building."

"Building what?  I thought you said it was an experiment."

"It's more of a project."

She stared over his shoulder. "Now what?"

"Now," he leaned back and gave her a smile, "we wait."

"For what?"

He reached into a small box and placed a cockroach onto the platform he'd constructed.  "To see if Bonkers improves his lap time with this new course and diet."

Grissom clicked his stopwatch and began cleaning up the mess in his office.  Sara watched in disgusted fascination as Bonkers promptly pushed through the barrier and scurried across the floor towards the exit.  She looked around for a way to corral him without touching him, but failed.  "Grissom?"


End file.
